Imitation is the Highest Form of Flattery

I don't want you to think I'm looking for a bunch of attention or sympathy, but I do want to talk about a disease that I have. I'm sure you've seen commercials about it on television. It's called Restless Leg Syndrome, or RLS for short. I've had RLS for about six and a half years, which, coincidentally, is exactly how long I've been married.

I have a very rare form of the disease. My symptoms only attack at night, and they're usually provoked when I hear a noise that sounds like snoring (I can't call it snoring because my husband does NOT snore). Other times, my RLS will start flaring up when my space bubble is threatened, or when my covers are stolen away from me. One of these catalysts provokes my system, and my legs just start kicking uncontrollably. They don't stop until they've hit my poor husband and he stops imitating a snoring person, or backs out of my space bubble, or returns my covers to me.

Last night, I was summoned at 1:45 a.m. by George over the baby monitor for the fourth time of the night. I laid there, head pounding, thinking, "If anybody wants me out of this bed, they're going to have to blast me out with dynamite."

After about five minutes of listening to his half-hearted "Waaaaaah" over the monitor, I felt something very peculiar. It was my husband's big toe jabbing me in the ankle. Apparently, RLS is contagious. I had no idea!

"No way, buddy," I thought. "You're not going to beat me at my own game." Joe got up that time.

There was one person who did beat everybody else at the game, though, and that was George. He woke up seven times last night. Sleep training isn't exactly going as planned. If that kid doesn't knock it off, I'm going to start co-sleeping and unleash my RLS on him.

I'm only kidding. Put down the phone--you don't need to call CPS.